“I want my kisses back from you.

Give me the hello’s and goodbye’s,

And pack up every morning and goodnight.”

‘Open your eyes.’

Yura jolted awake, to be greeted by sleeping faces of Suga and Hope, both of whom were hunched forward on either side of the bed, with each of her hand in theirs.

They seemed to be in peace as they slept, their forms moving gently with each shallow breath they took. Yura smiled wistfully, slightly squeezing at the hands that held hers as she peered at their smooth faces.

“Good to see you’re back to your mysterious self again,” RM was leaning against the wall across from her canopy bed, his own face expressionless as he met her grey orbs.

“Tell me, what are you? Why do you take on the form of a human yet have scars where angels should have wings?”

Yura’s breath hitched in surprise as she looked at herself, noticing now that she was in a nightgown.

How do I possibly explain this? Will I break yet another oath with Him?

“It’s fine if you don’t want to say anything,” he scratched at the back of his head nonchalantly, pushing himself off of the wall and gestured towards the two sleeping soundly by her sides. “They didn’t see anything. I just happened to walk in when one of the maids were dressing you and saw your back.”

Yura looked down at her lap, unsure of how she should answer. Should she be thanking him? Should she tell him everything? What consequences awaited her?

“You know, I’ve heard of a legend long ago of someone like you. The white-wings talk about it all the time. They say an angel of the high order sacrificed herself for a few fallen angels decades ago. They were bound to walk the earth, immortal, never to enter heaven again. They were caught in a cycle of repeated misery. Until she intervened. But no one knows what happened to her apparently. They say she has wings a brighter white than any other, and golden brown hair. But when I had my suspicions was that I saw your eyes. They’re the same grey mentioned in the tales. It’s a pity you have black hair; it doesn’t fit the description.”

Yura contemplated just confessing. He had gotten almost everything right. He had deduced all of this just from the scars on her back and the color of her eyes. Her hair had turned a dark black-brown when she awoke from her death; her wings had been ripped from her shoulder blades, and the scars were never healed, always growing an unbearable hot then subsiding to become icy cold.

As expected of him. He had never disappointed her even when he was still up above, his knowledge boundless, and his thoughts deeper than any other. But that knowledge was exactly what had gotten him banished. Such pride, such arrogance was not tolerated where all angels were supposed to be treated equally. He tried to know too much, he tried to pry into se